


Investments

by CrazyCranberry



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Daredevil Spoilers, Daredevil – Freeform, Fix-It, Gen, HE DID NOT DIE, I DON'T WANT TO ACKNOWLEDGE IT, I Don't Even Know, I fixed it, I hated Anatoly's death so here, Loki has some top secret business, This is very vague, kind of, so much ambiguity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 18:15:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5015080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyCranberry/pseuds/CrazyCranberry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I did not like Anatoly Ranskahov's death– at all. So here is a painfully vague, moderately short, fix-it fic, featuring an equally vague Loki who has some 'hush hush secret secret' plans. </p><p>Vladimir is confused, Anatoly is confused, EVERYONE is confused. </p><p>ENJOY.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Investments

**Author's Note:**

> I've been playing with this idea FOREVER, so here you go. I hope you enjoy. Comments are greatly appreciated! If the Russian is wrong, PLEASE tell me. The same goes for spelling/punctuation errors.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/awesomeandromedablack

He was going to die. Anatoly always knew that his death would be bloody and brutal, most likely at the hands of an enemy. Utkin had reaffirmed this notion– encounters prior supplying any and all needed proof. As Fisk’s fists rained down upon him, unyielding and as heavy as sledgehammers, he knew with a bitter definitiveness that he’d always been right. He often liked to think that he’d grow old, older than was normal in their business, and maybe convince Vladimir to spend their final years back in Russia. But as Fisk all but mauled him, his chest growing tighter and world more muddled with each blow, that dream began to slip.

Before long he found himself facedown on the pavement, world dipping in and out of focus. He had no concept of how long he’d been lying there when Fisk grabbed him again, propping him up against the car. Anatoly’s head lolled halfway into the car and halfway out, neck straining as he tried to orient himself to see what was coming next. As he heaved in a watery breath, his heart began to ache– not because of his ribs that he knew must be cracked, or severely bruised at the very _least_. His heart ached for _Vladimir_. His brother would be left alone to brave the world, to deal with this _animal_ , to get out of this country _alive_. Anatoly knew that Fisk would be after Vladimir next, and he had no way to warn him. Fisk would destroy them both, would take away Vladimir’s only remaining family. The fat _shit_ would be their end. _“I am sorry, my brother,”_ Anatoly thought, watching with heavy eyes as Fisk reached for the car door. Anatoly knew what was coming, and made one more attempt to _move_.

“No, _no_ … this won’t _do_.” The voice startled the Russian back into awareness, confusion making him instantly alert. His eyes darted upward to see a hand rest itself gently on Fisk’s shoulder. The fingers, pale, no, _blue_ , dug into the suit and tugged, sending Fisk hurtling backwards. The crime lord connected with the ground with a solid ‘thwak’, head rebounding off of the cement. Anatoly’s heart, which had been stuttering an uneven tempo a minute prior, seemed to have gone silent. He dared not breathe as he stared up at the man before him– his black hair seemed etched into the dark horizon, armor glinting in the low light, staff held proud at his side.

Fisk, who had finally managed to right himself, halted all attempts to rise at seeing who stood before him. " _Loki_ ," he breathed; fear looked out of place on the beast of a man.

“Yes,” Loki replied, expression disinterested. He stared at the bleeding Russian on the ground, mouth turned down in something close to exasperation. For the first time in a long time Anatoly felt like a rat trapped by a cat, and not the other way around. “I have certain _investments_ that’ve been made and this man is a large part of those investments. I can’t have you decapitating him… at least not _now_.” Anatoly coughed, his questions getting lodged in his throat. This god had almost leveled New York and would’ve continued on had it not been for The Avengers. What did this would-be conqueror have to do with _him_? What _investments_? 

By this point Wesley was out of the car, lingering by the back of the SUV and staring fixedly between the three men. Anatoly watched him from the corner of his eye, uncomfortable with having Loki out of his range of sight. He had the distinct impression that no one knew had to handle themselves in this situation– any move could presumably be their _last_. Everyone had seen what Loki was capable of, and no one wanted to test his limits, but curiosity was an undeniably strong force.

“What do you want?” Anatoly queried, cautious, stomach dropping as the god’s eyes bore into his own, “I’ve never _met_ –”

“I’m aware you’ve never met me, _human_. My investments are none of your concern. I only wish for you to remain breathing for at _least_ another month.”

“Why, if I may be so bold?” Wesley asked, the slight readjustment of his glasses the only sign of his unease. Loki saw it immediately, and smiled, slow and cold and _terrifying_.

“Simply know that if his untimely end is reaped by your hands, I will _not_ be pleased. I nearly conquered your world once– do not tempt me to try again. Perhaps my aim might be a tad more _limited_ next time,” Loki purred, threat clear. Fisk’s face paled, and Wesley took an unconscious step backwards.

“Hell’s Kitchen…” Fisk muttered, fear giving way to an awed despair.

“Would be Hell, indeed,” Loki quipped, shrugging, “I have a prior engagement, _unfortunately_ , so I’ll be on my way. I hope not to be interrupted again.” With that, Loki reached down towards Anatoly who flinched away. The god only laughed, short and caustic, before tapping Anatoly’s arm. Th Russian vanished in an instant, the only indication he’d been there at all was the blood stain on the edge of the car's interior carpet. Loki disappeared a moment later in the same manner, leaving Fisk and his assistant shaken and unbelievably confused.

~~~

Anatoly suddenly found himself in his brother’s office, collapsing heavily onto the wooden floor. His head was pounding, stomach roiling, and his body screamed at his ungrateful deposit back into the physical realm. He had traveled through utter blackness, his limbs had felt contorted beyond any possible measure; he felt as if he had been turned inside out. Vladimir, who had been sitting at the desk, worrying over the phone and waiting for his brother’s call, shot from his chair, eyes wide in panic. “Анатолий , что ебут!” he shouted, rushing to his brother’s side. Anatoly was badly beaten, his face bruised, but Vladimir could tell that he would live– the only thing that currently unnerved him was that his brother had _materialized_ from thin air.

“I will explain, но поймите меня в ванную , сейчас!” Anatoly groaned, and Vladimir heaved his brother from the floor and all but dragged him to the nearest restroom. Anatoly spent the next few hours retching into a toilet and sputtering on about the pains of teleportation. He would take on the masked mudak every day for the rest of his life, than deal with Loki and his dark magic _ever_ again. He managed to stop retching long enough to grasp Vladimir’s hand, needing the reassurance that his brother was here and that he himself was not, in fact, dead. For now. Once his stomach settled, he would have a _very_ interesting story to tell.

 

 

 

Russian Translations: 

“Анатолий , что едут!” = "Anatoly, what the fuck!"

"...но поймите меня в ванную , сейчас!” = "...but get me to the bathroom, NOW!"


End file.
